Alice in Wonderland
by Mr. Fuzz
Summary: Alice is in for another adventure, and this time it will be had in her favorite book, The Dark Jewels Trilogy.
1. Chapter 1 Into the Rabbit Hole

_My bed definatly needs replacing._ Frowning, I move my hand around under my back, feeling for what spring has managed to worm its way up through the top of my mattress _this_ time. I open my eyes to a purple black blanket with fuzzy edges and dotted with lights glowing like those Light Brights I used to play with as a kid. Groaning, I raise myself up on my elbows and take a glance at my surroundings, the blanket righting itself along with the world and rendering itself recognizable as the sky, its fuzzy edges the trees ringing a clearing. I smirk. And those Light Brights? They're not some child's toys hanging above me, they're the stars, and for once in my life I have a view of them _not_ made less bright by the lights on the doorstep of The City That Never Sleeps. The sight of them takes my breath away. And then I remember who I am, where I come from, and just how strange it is to be propped up on my elbows in the middle of the night in a forest. Where am I? The question hovers in my mind, like a fly buzzing around a choice piece of left over meat, but I shy away from it. After all, there are just far too many stories nowadays about women being abducted from their homes, and then being raped/killed/tortured, or all of the above. Still, shouldn't I remember my abductor? Shouldn't I remember him, it had to be a him, breaking in, knocking me over the head, yelling "Boo!", _something_ instead of this yawning hole of black stuck smack dab in the middle of my memory of last night, right after I had curled up in the plush red armchair in my room with my favorite book, The Black Jewels Trilogy, and right before I woke up here, with a head that felt like it was more full than it had any right to be, and a memory strangely empty. Really though, it doesn't matter now. Obviously I have been abducted from my home, while my parents have been out, and now my attacker had left me here, probably assuming I would be unconscious while he was gone, and he would come back with enough implements of torture to satisfy a room full of sadomasochists and ill intent. I let that image play in my head a moment before a thought crosses my mind, it's chilly prospect blowing the question of my whereabouts out altogether. What if he had already used me for whatever purpose he had taken me, and had now left me for dead. What if, when I looked down at my body, it would only be a heap of mangled, bloody flesh, my body so full of adrenaline, or, I shudder, so near to death that I can't feel the pain. As if to state the validity of this thought, I shiver as a breeze picks up and plays across my skin, and I can feel it on every corner of my body, without the protection of clothes. But my body feels whole, and I can even wriggle my toes. Is this real, or are the things I'm feeling simply the phantom limbs of the decapitated? I sigh, and the sound mingles with my little betraying breeze now playing in the treetops. There is really only one way to find out. And if I really am a mangled, bloody, pulpy mess, at least I'll only have, tops, and hour to contemplate my death, and that entirely pain free. Oddly enough, that though comforts me and I pluck up the courage to look at my self. Everything is where it should be, my legs are whole and what's more, there is no blood to speak of. Despite this I still feel mildly uncomfortable. My clothe less state causes my cheeks to burn, and I instinctlvely look around to make sure that I am alone. _Stupid,_ I chide myself. The only person likely to see me would be my abductor, and if _he_ shows up, I'll have bigger fish to fry. So thinking I stand up and take another look around me, this time with escape in mind. What if _he_ came back? I couldn't very well be lying here, still alive and naked when and if he did. That would be stupid. So slowly I turn a circle, trying to find the best-looking direction to go in. This whole situation is so insane that I suppress a giggle. What does it matter which way I go? I have absolutely _no_ idea where in the world I am, and so, sniggering to myself, I lick my forefinger and hold it up as I've seen people do in the movies, and all I achieve is a cold finger as I realize that I have no idea if this means there is wind, and if so where it's coming from. Shaking my head against a manic urge to laugh, I turn toward on of the walls of trees surrounding me, and feel my heart stop. Right in front of me, leaning against a tree some twenty feet in front of me, is a man wearing the biggest smirk I think I've ever seen. His arms are leanly muscled, his sturdy looking slacks black in the moonlight, as are his boots. Everything else is gilded silver, and there is something about the languid way that he leans there, utterly at his ease, that reminds me irresistibly of a feline. The fur trees above him shadowed the rest of his body, from his shoulders up, and all I could see of his face were his teeth, furthering my impression of some wild cat.

My first instinct is to cover myself, but an image of myself from his point of view flashes across my mind, grabbing vainly at body parts that I have no hope of covering, and I still my hands. Besides I reason, with the part of my brain that hasn't frozen with horror, he has already seen everything there is to see, why cover up now? In a voice that is surprisingly steady, considering the pandemonium going on in my brain, I manage, "Who are you, and what do you want?"

The grin widens, and in a voice that the only word to describe is caressing, he answers me, "I think the valid question is, my lady, who are you, and what are _you_ doing here? You see, I own this land, and while the sight before me isn't exactly unpleasant, I have to wonder what you're doing here, naked, in the middle of _my_ forest."

I stand here, shivering, from the cold as well as the shock of my whole situation, utterly unable to comment back. The confusion in my head has grown deafening, and only one thought surfaces: _So he isn't my attacker?_

After an uncomfortable silence, on my part, since he seems to be totally at ease, he says, as if trying to help me figure out just exactly what I _am_ doing here, nude, in the middle of the woods, "You aren't near a lake, so you couldn't have been swimming, as unlikely as _that_ would be this far away from the Hall, so…were you here with a lover? Did you wake to find him gone?"

Despite the fact that he said this with total dispassion, I am stung! How dare he imply that I had been left here by some man, naked and alone! And in the woods no less!

"I'm afraid not", I say in the coldest voice I can muster. "I have about as much idea what I'm doing here as you do. If you want the truth, I woke up here, naked and alone in _your forest_, and my last memory was of reading my book in my house, which isn't near _any_ woods. And I was clothed."

In a sort of choked voice-that rendered it, however, no less appealing-he says "Ahh, well then." I thin that it is all he can manage without falling into a fit of laughter. I suppose I _do_ look a bit comical, standing here, with not a stitch on, arms crossed and glaring daggers at the man in the shadows. Not that I think I'll be laughing any time soon, but I can at least appreciate his humorous mood. With a large sigh, I say "So mister, are you going to stand there grinning like an idiot all night, or are you going to help me out here? Guys don't really need shirts, and it's really cold out. Do you think I could borrow your shirt? I promise I'll give it back, if you can take me to the…the Hall did you say?"

I waited, and his body language seems to suggest thoughtfulness, though I still can't see his face. After a moment he says, "Well, you see you have put me at a disadvantage." I snorted. Who talks like that anymore? Without appearing to notice, he went on, "As you said it _is_ cold, and without my shirt I'll be at nature's mercy." I could see where this was going, and a cold trickle of fear went down my spine. "So", he finishes, "it will cost you." My whole body is cold now, and images of me at his mercy root me to the ground like a deer in headlights. He chooses this moment to advance on me from the trees, and I see his face for the first time, and had I not been scared shitless, it would have knocked the breath out of me. He was movie star handsome, with a rough edge to his face that suggested he hadn't shaved in a while. His hair was a little wild, and his large, deep-set eyes were set under thick winged brows. His nose, roman and long, was just above a mouth that is possibly the most sensual mouth I have ever seen, even on a woman. But there is a hardness about him, a sardonic quirk to his mouth, a lifelessness about his eyes that suggests him to be just the tiniest bit ruthless. I feel my fear take a deeper hold on me. About two feet away from me, he stops, and he smiles, and suddenly my fear of him is lessened just the tiniest fraction. "A kiss will buy you my shirt, and your warmth." To his huge amusement, I splutter. A _kiss_? This is not at all what I expected, and a wave of relief shudders through me so that I think I might faint. And I am not a big fainter. I think he sees this, because his expression quickly turns to one of concern. I give a shaky laugh. "Alright then." I say, as if I make these kinds of deals with strange, handsome men all the time, and I extend my hand. "Shake on it." With a bark of surprised laughter, he grips my hand. "It's a deal.," he says, and it's my turn to laugh at the absurdity of it all. I take a deep breath, square my shoulder and walk up to him. It can't be _that_ hard. Dumb blondes do this practically from birth don't they? I can do this. No problem. Swiftly, without thinking, I close the last distance between us, and peck him swiftly on the cheek. _Ha, _I think. I never said I would kiss him on the mouth. Internally congratulating myself on a con well done, I almost miss his appreciating glance. "Hmmm, "he says with a rueful smile. "Well done. But you see, even though I realize that I didn't specify what kind of kiss this was to be, I still have my shirt. And you are still, well, you still don't have one. And in light of that fact, I think I can be dishonorable, and say that I won't give you this shirt until I am well pleased with your efforts." His smile is unashamed as I fume. I can't _do_ this. I have _no_ experience, and yet I can't let him know that. I won't hear the end of it. Is a shirt really worth this sort of humiliation? Somehow, the thought of walking into the Hall-whatever _that_ was- in nothing but my birthday suit is looking more and more appealing.

Seeing my hesitation, he smiles, "What's wrong?" he laughs. "Not good looking enough for you?" I shake my head, not wanting to tell a stranger that I have never done this, and that kissing a total stranger, with the added humiliation of being naked, is just the teensiest bit daunting. Seeing however, that he expects an answer, I mumble, "I've never exactly done this before." And am greeted, as I thought I would be, with a low rumbling laugh that causes my head to droop, and my cheeks to burn. But when I look up, it's to see a fleetingly tender expression touch his face, replaced by a mischievous one so fast that I wonder if I saw it at all. "Well, since this is your first one, I _suppose_ I'll show you how it's done." And with no further ado he gently slides his hands underneath my hair, and I shiver a little, though this time not from the cold. Leaning down, he gently brushes his lips over my eyelids-that have, of their own volition, slid closed-, and then they drift over my cheeks, bringing in their wake a fiery sensation that I feel in every fiber of my body. Finally they come to rest on my lips, and somehow, almost against my will, I am kissing back, matching everything he does tit for tat. He pulls back, barely breathing hard, while I feel like I just ran the hundred-meter dash, and says in a superior tone, "And that, is how it's done. Now it's your turn." I reach up and tentatively wrap my arms around his neck, dragging my nails slightly against his skin, to curl my fingers in his hair, before I bring my lips to his. Determined to make him breathe as heavily as I was, I press myself against him, and bite his bottom lip hard, causing him to gasp. I take this opportunity to deepen our kiss, and he groans into my mouth as I slide my tongue over his. One of his arms wrap around my waist while the other digs into my hair, and pulls my head back as he kisses down my neck. A moan escapes my throat as his lips find mine once more, and I pull away long enough to whisper throatily into his ear, "Are you pleased with my efforts _yet_?" He pulls away from me, and disentangles me from his arms. Eyeing me warily, he says, "I thought that was your first kiss."

Utterly bewildered, I reply, "It was." Shaking his head, he smiles ruefully, and begins unbuttoning his shirt. "Could have fooled me." Grinning, he pulls his shirt off and hands it to me, and I gratefully pull it on and begin doing up the buttons, glad to have something to do _besides_ stand there and ache to begin our kiss again. I had had _no_ idea what I was missing. My task done, I look up to find him looking at me with an amused expression on his face. "So my little vixen, what's your name?" he asks me, and startled at the normalcy of the question, it takes me a moment to remember the correct answer to his question. Before his amusement can deepen any more, I answer, "Alice. And you?" My stranger was already heading toward the clearing's edge, and he looked back at me over his shoulder to answer, "Satan. Satan SaDiablo the third, to be precise. Pleasure."


	2. Chapter 2 Trust

I stand there, dumbfounded, as he continues to walk toward the edge of the clearing. Did he just say Saetan SaDiablo? I wonder. Could he really be deluded enough to think he was a character from a fictitious story? I giggle a little at the thought of someone seemingly so self-assured being _that _insane. He looks over his shoulder at me yet again, this time with a hint of impatience touching his face.

"Are you coming with me or not? I'm afraid I don't have all night to wait for you."

I roll my eyes, and walk to him, thinking all the way how odd it was for this random guy that found me in the woods to profess to be one of the main characters in the book I was reading _right_ before I landed here. And we were supposedly going to _the Hall? _And I _still _had no idea how it was that I _got_ here in the first place. In fact, where _is _here? With all of these questions making a wreck of my brain once more, I ask him a question that I hope will take away _some_ of my confusion and at least help me get my bearings. When I reach him underneath the stand of firs, I clear my throat.

"Excuse me, er…Saetan," I choke back laughter as I say the name, "but where exactly _are _we?"

He looks down at me for a long moment, giving me an assessing look that quickly turns to one of confusion at whatever he finds there.

"You know, when you said you didn't know where you were just a moment ago, I thought that you were lying, Darkness knows why. And in fact I was just wondering why you would carry the lie so far as to kiss me, although I flatter myself by believing that I'm irresistible."

I chuckle. I'm sure he did. The funny thing is, he is the sort of guy who could say that and not look horribly conceited. It was simply true, and as unlike bragging as a flower saying that it smelled nice. I smile as he continues.

"But now I'm beginning to wonder if you _aren't_ lying."

Taking one last searching glance my way, he turns on his heel and walks into the surrounding trees, leaving me to pick my way through brambles and low branches behind him, my semi-cloth-less state making progress _very_ slow. After a few more moments of lengthy silence, I start to wonder whether or not he will answer my question. Opening my mouth to ask again, he sighs.

"We are, to answer your earlier question, in Kaeler, about a day and a half's walk from The Hall. I was out here scouting the woods. My mother, Jaenelle, wove a tangled web last night, and told me to come out here, to this exact spot, because for some reason, there was to be a breakdown of the psychic winds around here, and it was very important I find out the source of disturbance. Needless to say, I was ready for anything, except of course a naked woman, alone and utterly unaware of where she was."

Turning around, he gave me that quizzical expression that I had come to know. The one that caused a small furrow to appear between his brows, and somehow make me feel guilty at not having conformed to what he had expected.

"And now, because of you my lady, the winds around here simply cease to exist a few thousand yards around your clearing. In fact, unless you were to get off of the winds, you would never even know that it was there; you would just connect to the next wind, and never know anything was amiss."

Shaking my head, I look into his face for some sign that he is joking. He _had_ to be joking, because if he wasn't, and he wasn't crazy, then _I _had gone crazy and was either raving in my room right now, or out here in the woods in the middle of nowhere, talking to myself. The only thing wrong with that is that I am pretty sure that crazy people don't know that they're crazy. So then: I'm not suffering from temporary insanity. That only leaves two options. Either he was certifiably insane, or he was the person who had kidnapped me. Out here, alone in the woods except for a man that I have only just met, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt, I'm not sure what scares me more.

"Ok," I said in a voice that I hoped sounded reasonable, and not on the verge of hysteria. "You expect me to believe that I am in Kaeler, where there are psychic winds, and animals that talk to humans mind to mind?"

Clearly startled by the turn my question had taken, he nodded.

"Well, yes" he said to me in a voice like you might use to talk to a partially retarded person. "This _is_ Kaeler. And if, when you were talking about animals that could speak with us, you meant the _kindred_, then yes, they live here too."

He seems so sincere. If he is trying to screw with my head, he is doing it _very_ well. He hardly blinked, and he seemed to truly fear for my sanity. Before this can go any further, I smirk, and panicked laughter bubbles at my throat.

"Fine then. Do some magic. Lift a pinecone without using your hands, or walk on the air. If this is really Kaeler, then you should have no problem with that, right?"

Although I am nearly blind with terror at this strange and potentially deadly turn my life has taken, I feel better. At least now he'll have to torture me openly, instead of playing head games. _Much more of this, and I'll be in danger of spending the rest of my life in a padded cell, rocking back and forth in the fetal position_, I thought ruefully. Then I shivered.

The rest of my life might not be that long.

Still smirking, more to give myself confident than out of any feelings of superiority, I wait for him to do something. And then I see him rise a few feet into the air, until his boots are level with my lips. _That wasn't a coincidence_, I think absurdly, as I try in vain to find the ladder he's standing on. When I find none, with a smirk to match the one I had worn not long before, he floats back down to the ground. He stands there, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"Was that good enough proof for you?" He asks like I'm a child needing to be reassured that Santa Clause is real, and he's just taken me to the mall to see "the real deal".

"No", I say in a slightly petulant voice that I hate myself for. "Do something to me. Make me hotter, or colder, or…talk to me mind to mind. There is no _way_ for you to trick me then."

Proud of myself for finding this conclusion, it takes me by surprise when I feel a pressure in my skull, a bit like the way my head felt the moment I woke up in the clearing. It feels as if there's cotton in my head, and a moment later, I hear his voice, which is somehow even sexier than it is when he speaks out loud. As if I've gotten the true essence of it, without the physical trappings. Not that those trappings were so bad.

"There. I'm talking to you, ok? Are you satisfied now?"

Tentatively, I follow this strange mental link back to him, and say, "Yes, I'm satisfied." A feeling of utter confusion comes through the link as I say this, and he asks in a surprised voice, "What jewel do you wear? It seems like our link is coming from all of the jewels, not just one."

I give a mental shrug that he seems to understand, and he leaves the subject alone, seeming to understand how upset I am by all of this. As he breaks the link, I feel woozy, as if he had taken some of my strength with him, along with his consciousness, and it takes me a moment to regain my balance. Looking into my face, he laughs and grabs my elbow to steady me, "Are you alright? You are without a doubt the most interesting woman I have met in quite some time."

Smiling, I tug my elbow out of his grasp, and laugh a little unsteadily. "Well," I say. "I'll try to take that as a complement." Then, another thought occurres to me. "Saetan…how far away are we going to have to walk to the Hall? I mean couldn't we ride the winds?" I shake my head as I realize how insane I sound, and the thought that I might very well be insane occurres to me again. He smiles. "Tired?" he asks.

"No." I lie, and his expression tells me he's caught me in it, although he says nothing. Appearing to think, Saetan is silent for a moment. Then he looks at me.

"Well", he says, "We _could_ ride them if we walk a bit farther. As I told you, the winds have simply disappeared all around your clearing. Actually, I think we'll have to camp out under the stars tonight. At the pace you're keeping us at, we won't make the place where the winds continue until tomorrow morning," I feel my face flush with fury at his casual dismissal of me, but if he notices, he doesn't show it. He continues, " And I have no wish to keep walking through the night. No matter what you say, I have a very strong suspicion that you are very nearly dead on your feet, and I'd rather not have to protect you from whatever dangers lurk in the shadows. This is Kaeler, yes, but there are still dangers here. My family can't keep them all out. In fact, I think we should camp out at the next relatively clear place we come to." Apparently thinking this case closed, Saetan turned his back on me once again, and started walking. My whole body still feels like it is on fire because I'm so angry, but I hold it together. I need this strange, handsome, magical man to help me get out of these woods, as much as I might resent that fact. So offending him is not on my 'To Do' list. Still, once we're out of here, I resolve to give him a fierce piece of my mind. With that settled, I make my way behind him, stepping on the spiny forest floor, unable to see the small branches that scratch my unprotected thighs, that tangle my borrowed shirt until I have to stop and untangle myself from them. After about fifteen minutes of this silent trekking through the woods, the branches start to scratch my scratches, and I can feel the soft soles of my feet become raw. But I set my jaw. _I won't make a sound_, I promise myself over and over. _I won't give him the satisfaction of hearing me complain._ And so I keep walking, keep shoving those annoying, unwanted tears back where they came from. In front of me, Saetan's back remains a steady landmark that I try and try to reach, but never quite achieve. For a while I take my mind off of the pain by daydreaming of breaking all of those bones in his gorgeously muscled back. The back that keeps mocking me for my weakness. But then I realize that the man in front of me has actually been very kind to me. He hasn't once turned around to tell me to hurry up, even though I'm sure he doesn't want to be in this God forsaken forest any more than I do. He has also been very subtly holding back branches for me, knocking the larger branches out of my way with his foot, and doing small things to make this journey easier. Of course he's pushing me. He doesn't want us to be in this forest one minute more than we have to, but he also isn't being inconsiderate or cruel. So I stop imagining ways to torture him, even though it had been the only thing keeping me from screaming at the burning in my legs and the growing agony in my feet. The sharp pinecones that I couldn't see have pricked my feet so that they feel like a gross bleeding mess. Almost like what I thought my body might have looked like earlier.

Finally, desperately, to keep my mind off of the pain in my legs and feet, I try to talk to my stranger. "So, what do you plan on doing with me once we get to the Hall?" I ask, and I'm pretty proud of how steady my voice sounds. But there must have been something in it that told him how much pain I'm in, because he turns around in a move as fluid and graceful as a tiger, and I can see a look on his face that scares me. His eyes look a little wild, his nostrils flare out, and his shoulders hunch, like he's about to strike at me. I start shrink back from him, but something in me stops the movement before it's finished. In the books, when a man looked like that, it was very, very stupid to act afraid. So I pull myself up to my full height, which was almost as tall as he is, and say as calmly as I can, "Saetan? What's wrong?"

A chill is in the air, and it turns my breath to frost. He answers slowly, as if he had to look around inside his head to find the words he wanted to say.

"You're bleeding." He says sweetly, like a mother tucking her kids in at night, and I shiver a little.

"If this walk was too much for you, you should have said something. I would not have walked you this far if I knew that it was hurting you, and you are a damned fool for thinking that we could have kept walking for very long anyway, with the condition you are in. Now," he says, and his voice holds that honeyed venom in it again. Quick as a flash, he grabs my wrist, his grip so hard that tears prick my eyes, and I can feel the bones creak. He pulls me to him so fast that I stumble and fall against him, and I wonder what he plans to do to me, as punishment for not telling him about my pain.

"Tell me what hurts," he croons.

I take a deep, shuddering breath, and hope that I don't say anything to make him break my wrist.

"My feet are bleeding. I haven't walked barefoot in a long time, and they're soft. My legs are probably bleeding too, but only from little scratches, and," I take a risk, hoping it's the right thing to say, since he had practically ordered me to tell him _everything_ that hurt, "my wrist. Could you loosen up your grip please?"

As quickly as it all started, it stops. The chill in the air dies down until it is just cold instead of bone freezing, and my teeth stop chattering. I didn't even know they _were_ chattering. Saetan's grip slackens, and I can feel the bones right themselves underneath my skin. I sigh, and look the inch or so into his face to see his expression. He looks sick with remorse, and for a minute I feel like I should comfort him, hug him, or even kiss him again. _Something_ to get that look of defeat off his face. But his expression changes all at once from something heart-renching to one more everyday, a look of concentration, and I'm stunned for a minute that he can change his expression so quickly. He'd done it so smoothly, I almost doubt what I saw. Almost, but not quite.

"Oh, sorry about that." He says casually, as if he hadn't almost broken my wrist. "Anyway, we can't keep traveling now, so I guess we'll just have to stop here. It's almost clear anyway."

For him, it is the work of a moment to collect enough wood to keep us warm all night, all of his motions slow and deliberate, as if one sudden movement might send him over the edge. Then he snaps at me, "Alice, Hells fire woman, sit down! Do you expect to go to sleep standing up?"

I can't tell him that I was afraid of making him angry again, but I think he sees it somehow, because a shadow of that earlier expression mars his face and abruptly I sit down.

"So", I say, trying to distract him from his thoughts. "What now?"

Saetan's perfect winged brows lift, and the corners of his mouth quirk down, as if in an attempt not to smile, and I think that he knows what I was trying to do. I lift a brow of my own, and his quirk of the mouth turns to a full-blown smile. I smile back.

"Well," he says, and his deep, smooth voice sends a thrill through me that I try very hard not to show. Now is _not_ the time for those sorts of complications. "First things first, I think we ought to have a look at those feet."

He looks ridiculous sitting there on the ground in his pristine slacks, holding one of my ragged feet in his long fingered hands, the nails of which sport long, black tinted nails. I shiver a little, though not from the cold, as I think about the little snake tooth that I know could come out from under one of those nails at a whim, but if Saetan notices, he doesn't let on. Glancing for the first time at the full damage of the bottom of my foot, he hisses. "Mother Night Alice! How in the name of Hell did you manage to rip up your foot like this in under fifteen minutes? It looks like you purposely found every pinecone and every branch on the ground, and ground your foot into it for good measure."

Under my breath I growl. Why did he sound so damn upset about my foot? _He_ didn't have to deal with the horrible pain in the sole of it, made even worse by the heat of the fire and the stingingly cold breeze that's whipping through the trees. Still, I'm a little frightened by his anger, and it makes me take my first real look at my foot. The pads of my foot are so bloody that at first I have trouble seeing the real damage, but when I do, my stomach churns. They are so chopped up that they look faintly like uncooked ground beef, and the dirt and leaf bits stuck inside made them look dead, and have the added benefit of almost insuring that the wounds will get infected. Like a child who only cries at the sight of blood, I feel tears spring up from behind my lids, but I push them back as ruthlessly as I had before. I _will not_ cry in front of this intimidating, beautiful man. No chance in Hell.

_Although_, I think, remembering the details of my favorite set of books, the ones that I had so strangely fallen into, _Hell might not be too far away._

For the first time, I think of my family, and a pang of sadness waves over me as I face the very real possibility that I will never see them again. But I shove those thoughts away, along with the possibility of tears, and decide that they will have to wait for a more fitting, and private, time. I come back to myself just in time to feel Saetan push threads of heat through my foot, and I can feel them weaving in and out of each other to form a web of soothing warmth just below the surface of my mangled skin. Then, very gradually I feel the web move closer and closer to my torn flesh, and a delicious pressure that is closer to pain than anything builds in my foot. As the golden web moves through the wounds, I can feel the healing taking place, and the pressure builds to an almost unbearable level. I moan, but with pain or pleasure, I can't tell. The air around me shifts and changes somewhat as I do, and I can't shake the feeling that I have unsettled my healer. But that thought only lasts for a moment as the pressure intensifies in the last second before the healing is done and my whole body goes taunt. I want nothing more than for this bittersweet torment to end-and to last forever. Finally, my foot is healed, and I relax my muscles with a great whooshing sigh. But almost as soon as that foot is done, Saetan moves on to the next, and I have to go through the whole delightful anguish one more time. It's almost a relief.

After my feet are healed, Saetan's hands move to my thighs, and a lightning bolt of electricity flashes from the point where his hands touch skin to my chest, making breathing difficult.

"What are you doing?" I growl, more out of anger at my own response to his touch than from the fact that his hands were touching me intimately. Although, there was that too.

Saetan looks up at me, and his expression of gravity arrests my anger.

"I'm just trying to heal your legs. Trust me, nothing more will be asked of you, I promise, so don't worry. You're safe with me."

Something tells me that he is assuring me of this because he thinks that his anger had frightened me, and the last vestiges of my anger blow away like so many dead leaves.

Reaching down I grip his shoulders hard enough that my fingernails prick through the soft fabric of his shirt, and he raises his eyebrows.

"Look Saetan, believe me, I_ know_ that I'm safe with you. If you were going to hurt me, you would have done so a long time ago. You didn't have to help me, and you certainly didn't have to slow your pace for a slow klutzy oaf who wasn't tough enough to withstand a few brambles. You also didn't have to heal me. I trust you."

Saetan's stony mask slips and he smiles at me, before returning his attention back to my legs. For all of my brave words, I am still horribly uncomfortable with his hands caressing my thigh, and I savagely fight the urge to go rigid with fright. He'd react to that as surely as he'd react to a slap in the face. I try another approach.

"Saetan, look. The scratches on my thigh aren't as bad as the ones on my feet were. I think they'll be fine, healing on their own. Don't you?"

Sensing the cause for my reaction, he smirks, but then he turns serious once more.

"I'm sorry Alice," he says, and then crinkled his forehead as if trying to figure out how to explain something me. "Males like me, that is, Warlord Princes, are driven to the killing edge by the smell of a woman's blood. Our instincts tell us that it means danger for them, even if our minds tell us that it's just from a scratch." Saetan smirks. "So, if you will, endure the torment of my palms on your thighs for my sake."

Despite myself I smile.

"Hmmm…now let me see, where have I heard _that_ before?" I reply dryly.

An amused chuckle escapes him, and then I sigh with resignation.

"Oh, fine. Heal me, but make it quick."

Saetan bows his head in mock difference. "My lady's wish is my command."

As he begins the healing process once again, a faint smile lingers on his lips, and I try to focus on the sight of him instead of his rough hands sliding over my legs, bringing in their wake that feeling of painfully pleasurable pressure. The firelight plays tricks with his face, making him seem first mysterious, then appear to glow. The light makes it possible for me to see him without night marring my view, and I am struck again by how unnaturally beautiful he is. I think back to the books, and I sigh. He certainly lived up to the SaDiablo reputation in _that_ category. In fact, with the way the books had described Daemon, Saetan Number Three must be an exact replica. I examine his face again, and mentally shake my head. No, there was a hint of that exotic ,_not quite of this world,_ beauty that must have come from Janelle. All at once, a wave of excitement overwhelms me, and it is all I can do to sit there without squirming. How many times had I sat in my room staring out of the window, wishing that I could meet even _one _of those interesting characters in my favorite stories. The people in the real world are so annoyingly dull, and it seems like all high school inhabitants share one, unoriginal, much used brain. And it's sad really, when we come from a world of writers like Shakespeare, and artists like DaVinci, that America's high schoolers can only think about boose, drugs, and sex

_Oh, oh, wait, and we can't forget _myspace. I chuckle a little to myself. But now, I'm sitting here with one of the characters, or the son of the characters, of my favorite books, and in only a few hours, I'll be introduced to Jaenelle, not to mention Daemon, who I am not ashamed to say I have been in love with for years. And Lucivar. And best of all, Saetan Sr. For some reason, he had always fascinated me above anyone else in the stories. Well, him and Draca.

All at once, a million questions explode into my mind, and it is all I can do to clamp my teeth down on them.

I start to ask Saetan one of the many questions that are pressing against my lips, when I stop myself. _Should I let him know how much I know about his family?_ I think.

Once this thought occurs to me, the questions stop abruptly. I know intimate details about the people I am about to meet. At this point, it doesn't matter if I have spontaneously gone out of my mind. Whether all of this is all in my head or not, it _feels_ real. And because of that, it _is_ real. And when I meet these people, their reactions to me will matter just as much as anyone else's ever have. More so even, because these people don't have a law against killing, and if there is a threat to the Queens, it is expected, no, _required_.So, if they think I'm a spy, I will probably be dead before I can offer a word in my defense. The fact that I have read so much about these people that I _feel_ like I know them means nothing. The fact that I _think_ that they would give me a fair hearing also doesn't matter. When it comes to my life, I don't want to have to _think._ I would much prefer to _know_.

There still remains one problem. During the course of my stay in the Hall, however long _that_ was going to be, I am _bound_ to say something that would betray how much I know. And that would be even worse than being truthful up front. They would have no choice but to think I was an imposter then. Especially with what had happened to the winds around my clearing. They would never believe I didn't have any magic. They would never believe I hadn't come from here.

So everything falls to one desperately important question: Who would I tell?

The answer to that question was easy. Saetan is the first person I've met, and even though I have only known him for a few hours, I feel like I can trust him. Plus, he had the added bonus of not feeling awkward about how much I knew. He hadn't even been _born_ at the end of the last book. Nothing had been written about his love affairs, or his intense internal struggles, or the sacrifices he had made for others. Nothing linked me to him, except for knowledge about those around him. Yes, he was the perfect choice.

By the time I am finished making my decision, Saetan is done healing my legs, and the tops of them are smooth once more. I allow myself a fleeting moment of pleasure, knowing that there would be no days of discomfort as I waited for the itchy scabs to heal.

_I could get used to this, _I think. But then I frown. If Saetan doesn't take my news as well as I hope, then I'll never get used to anything, ever again. The thought of one of thos deep, dark, silent graves, where _so_ many people in Hayll had met their ends sent a shiver down my spine. Maybe Saetan had inherited more from his father than just his looks.

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I squared my shoulders and looked into Saetan's eyes, which were already resting on me with concern.

"What's wrong, Ali? Does your leg still hurt?", he asks.

Taking a deep breath, I shake my head. "No Saetan, they feel wonderful, thanks. But, there's something I need to tell you before we get to the Hall."


End file.
